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Sunday, November 30, 2014

These shores have seen multitudes of bunco
artists and hoaxers, or as we would say today, con men. Just think of all the verbs we have for
cheating or swindling: bamboozle, hoodwink, humbug, hornswaggle, flimflam,
diddle, fleece, con, gyp, sting, chisel – and probably lots more that escape me
now. And New York, being a mecca for
hustlers, has had more than its share of flimflam artists. Here, as I see it, are their five steps to
sure success:

1.Find something
that vast numbers of people need, or think they need.

2.Offer a product
or service to satisfy that need.

3.Through grandiose
speeches and gestures, whip the people’s interest up to a fever pitch.

4.Get their money.

5.Satisfy their
need, if you can. But above all, get
their money.

Now let’s see these
principles in action.

1. Find something that vast numbers of people
need, or think they need.

Nineteenth-century Americans, like most
people then and now, craved health and well-being. But the medicine of that time had little to
offer beyond tender loving care (tlc). There was a vaccine for smallpox and quinine for malaria, but not much
else. Which left the field wide open for
patent medicine men and their nostrums.

2. Offer a product or service to satisfy that
need.

Let’s have a look at New York City in the
1860s. EXTRACT OF BUCHU said
handbills distributed throughout the city. EXTRACT
OF BUCHU leaped off the signs of sandwichmen marching
up and down Broadway, or off big-print posters on the sides of horsecars, or
asbestos curtains in theaters, or piles of bricks at construction sites, or
booths in public lavatories. Or, more
genteelly, off the pages of such popular publications as Godey’s Lady's Book and Harper’s
Weekly. Or, less genteelly, off the
soaring basalt cliffs of the Jersey Palisades, greeting the gaze of passengers on the steamboats plying the Hudson. And with the completion of the first
transcontinental railroad in 1869, EXTRACT OF
BUCHU adorned the telegraph
poles along the line, and appeared on seemingly inaccessible sides of mountains
in the towering Rockies and Sierras, to the surprise and instruction – or
outrage – of travelers by rail.

And what did Extract of Buchu do? Said an ad of the time, it

·Cures Gravel

·Cures diseases of the bladder

·Cures diseases of the kidney

·Cures dropsy

·Cures general weakness

·Cures all diseases arising from exposure

To which was added JOY
TO THE AFFLICTED, and a list of symptoms that
included dimness of vision, languor, temporary suffusion, loss of sight, etc.,
which, if untreated, could result in insanity and consumption. But there was hope:

With woful measures, wan Despair,

Low, sullen sounds of grief beguiled,

HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT OF BUCHU gives

Health and vigor to the frame,

And bloom to the pallid cheek.

And all this for only $1 a
bottle, or six for $5, deliverable to any address.

Another ad called Helmbold a “Practical
and Analytical Chemist” and showed Hottentots gathering buchu leaves in huge
bundles addressed to the doctor in New York.
Another praised the Extract as standing “like the Doric column … simple,
pure, and majestic, having fact for its basis, induction for its pillar, and
truth alone for its capital.”

What,
in fact, was this Extract of Buchu, and who was Henry T. Helmbold?

Agathosma betulina

The Extract was made of the leaves of the
exotic buchu plant (yes, it really exists: Agathosma
betulina), plus cubebs (also known as Java pepper), licorice, caramel,
molasses, and a dash of peppermint.
Buchu was a plant growing in South Africa among the Hottentots, who had
long used it as a medicine and cosmetic, rubbing the powdered leaves on their
skin to impart a fragrance akin to peppermint.
It had reached this country by 1840 and was listed in the Pharmacopeia as a stimulant producing
diuresis (in other words, it helped you urinate).

Helmbold

Henry T. Helmbold had begun his business
career in his native Philadelphia as a retail druggist without even a degree in
pharmacy and with capital, so he later said, of fifty cents. His life changed one day in 1850 when, at age
24, he discovered buchu and, in a fit of inspiration, began producing his
extract in a rented basement. Advertising
in local newspapers, he was immediately and even wildly successful and in 1863
transferred his genial presence from the City of Brotherly Love to the
turbulent, growing, and infinitely exciting city of New York.

3. Through grandiose speeches and gestures, whip
the people’s interest up to a fever pitch.

Let us join the crowds on busy Broadway on
a morning in the late 1860s. Among the
flux of carriages, drays, stages, express trucks piled high with luggage, lager
beer wagons, and milk carts with clattering cans, there suddenly appears a handsome
barouche ornamented in gold and pulled by three high-stepping horses in tandem,
the head of each adorned with violets.
Suddenly, at a command from the black coachman, the horses rear up on
their hind legs together, a stunning sight to see. Then, as the shiny black carriage approaches
a palatial establishment at 594 Broadway, where crowds are waiting to witness
its arrival, the barouche comes to a halt, and from its depths, attended by
footmen in livery, steps a small, fashionably dressed man with a lustrous black
beard and topped by a dark silk hat.
Nervous and energetic, he walks briskly toward the huge glass doors of
no. 594, which open as if by magic to admit him to its sumptuous depths. Henry T. Helmbold, king of the patent
medicine men, has arrived at his Temple of Pharmacy.

Yes, an obviously grandiose gesture, well
calculated to seize the public’s attention.
But inside the spacious, high-ceilinged store the royal progress continues. Passing uniformed clerks at their counters
and attendants and bookkeepers and managers who greet him deferentially, the
sovereign of the Temple of Pharmacy proceeds to the back of the store and a
small private office with a sign above the glass door announcing SANCTUM
SANCTORUM, inside which his desk awaits him, and a bust of himself in an exotic wood. The door closes, silence; inside,
the doctor is communing with his Muse, or whatever source inspires him in his
tireless promotion of Extract of Buchu.

Helmbold's pharmacy at 594 Broadway.

Always in pursuit of the grandiose, Dr.
Helmbold (a self-imposed title) had spent a fortune building his Temple of
Pharmacy, installing sarcophagus soda
fountains, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, monogrammed gas globes, marble floors with
his initials inlaid in brass, perfume-dispensing fountains, and canaries singing
in their cages. Atop the roof was a
full-rigged ship, supposedly Helmbold’s own yacht dismantled and reassembled
there, but in fact a dummy with masts, spars, and rigging.

So “buchuful” an edifice on Broadway drew
multitudes of citizens, among them such luminaries as Boss Tweed, robber barons
Jay Gould and Jim Fisk, Commodore
Vanderbilt (the richest man in America, known endearingly as “Old Sixty
Millions”), John Jacob Astor III (there was a slew of moneyed Astors), and New York Herald publisher
James Gordon Bennett. Sightseers from
the hinterland made a point of visiting the emporium, hoping as much to get a
glimpse of the doctor himself as to revel in the luxury of his establishment. In short, he dazzled the city and the nation.

4. Get their money.

He did, and in no small amount, for at the
peak of his career he is said to have been earning a million dollars a year,
and by 1869 he was spending $500,000 a year on advertising. He lived in a residence at 156 West 14th
Street (though some sources say Fifth Avenue), where his entertainments of the press and drug trade were catered by
Delmonico’s. His stable at 142 West 17th
Street housed from 18 to 20 carriage and saddle horses, all Kentucky-bred.

In
1868 Helmbold bought a summer residence in Long Branch, the nation’s summer
capital frequented in season by President Ulysses S. Grant himself and members
of his cabinet, and other stellar figures from the worlds of politics and
finance. Thereafter, the doctor’s elegant
four-in-hand was at times graced by the cigar-smoking President himself. But Helmbold also built a whole row of
business houses on Ocean Avenue and Broadway, following which that location
became known as Helmbold’s Block. All in
all, then, his was the life of a multimillionaire typical of the Gilded Age,
but more flamboyant.

5. Satisfy their need, if you can. But above all, get their money.

Yes, he got their money, but did he
satisfy their need? Of course not, no
more than any patent medicine man ever did.
In a signed affidavit he swore that his extract contained no narcotic,
no mercury, or any other injurious drug, being purely vegetable in
content. So no one got genteelly high on
his product, as they did on some other nostrums with a significant alcoholic
content. But even if buchu and cubebs
had the medicinal value that tradition assigned them, there is no reason to
think that Helmbold’s Extract of Buchu was in any way beneficial. It did no harm, but neither did it do any
good, except to Helmbold’s bank
account.

So much for Helmbold the con man, but
there is more to his story. One senses
in his flamboyance, his grandiose gestures and fanatical promotion of his extract, a certain compulsiveness, even an obsession. He became an alcoholic, though apparently a
binge drinker who between bouts was rational and sane. In 1871 he took his wife and children on a
tour of Europe and the Orient, and in Paris on July 4, 1872, he invited all
Americans in the city to be his guest at a reception said to have cost $19,000
for wine, flowers, and other incidentals.
Among the guests on that occasion was the Shah of Persia, who came to
pay his respects. But his lavish
spending was accompanied by increasingly eccentric behavior and, finally,
irrational outbursts of rage over the slightest trifles, and even an attempt to
kill his wife. As a result, the seer of buchu was confined to an insane asylum.

Meanwhile back in America
there was an attempt by his brother Albert L. Helmbold to get possession of his
business. What exactly happened is
unclear, but on September 13, 1872, the free-spending Henry T. Helmbold was
declared bankrupt, and the Temple of Pharmacy was padlocked. In the words of an associate, Helmbold was
“often crazy drunk,” and as a result he was declared insane and confined to an
asylum, first in Paris and then, when he managed to return to this country,
over here. His brother Albert brought
suit, claiming title to and use of the Extract, and furthermore alleging that
Henry was a lunatic. But in 1877 the
Supreme Court of New York State denied Albert’s claim and found no hard
evidence of Henry’s insanity. In that
same year of 1877 Henry, now at liberty, published a book entitled Am I a Lunatic? Or, Dr. Henry T. Helmbold’s
Exposure of His Personal Experience in the Lunatic Asylums of Europe and
America. But the New York Times of May 2, 1878, announced
in bold letters

HELMBOLD AGAIN RAVING; HE IS

ATTACKED BY DELIRIUM TREMENS

IN A STRAIT-JACKET AND STRAPPED

TO A BED IN BELLEVUE HOSPITAL.

Obviously, Helmbold’s path back to
sobriety was a long and tortuous one
with many relapses – seven, according to an associate – during which he
was given to grandiose delusions, including the intention to get himself
nominated as a candidate for President to run again Ulysses S. Grant. But in 1881, when he was confined to a
hospital in Norristown, Pennsylvania, his wife assured the court that he was
perfectly sane and anxious to return to his family, having long abstained from
alcohol and promised never to drink again.
In time, he was released.

Even his end is a bit of a mystery. According to associates, he died on September
12, 1892, at his home in Long Branch.
But a New York Times article
of October 25 announced that he had died suddenly the day before in New
Jersey’s State Asylum for the Insane, and that his body was at an undertaker’s
establishment awaiting the orders of his family, who so far had failed to
respond to the telegraphic notice. All
in all, an enigmatic and grandiose existence, hard to match except on the stage
or in a madhouse. But a forgotten
one. I have found no mention of him in The Encyclopedia of New York or Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898, both of them voluminous sources.

Should one include among the bunco artists
and con men of nineteenth-century America the railroad men who, even as
Helmbold was touting his Extract of Buchu, were busy promoting their
enterprises? Wall Street was usually
where these schemes were hatched, but they inspired hopes and visions
everywhere. Let’s see how the promise of
a railroad affected one small community some fifty miles north of New York
City. Here the emphasis will be, not on
the often nameless promoters, but on the community itself, as recorded in old
issues of the Putnam County Courier.

1. Find something that vast numbers of people
need, or think they need.

In the mid-nineteenth century the village
of Carmel, the county seat of Putnam County since the county's creation in 1812, found
itself in the sorry state of being connected to the outside world only by stage
lines, whereas the upstart village of Brewster, a mere five miles away, had
mushroomed out of nowhere with the coming of the New York & Harlem Railroad
in 1849, when a depot was built on the site. Shrewd local speculators had bought up farmland, and on those lands houses, stores, and factories had sprung up, all made possible by the
village’s connection by rail to that metropolis some fifty miles to the south. In that exuberant age when the
completion of the first transcontinental railroad in 1869 had spawned a host of
railroad projects in the distant and desolate West, how could the citizens of
Carmel not dream also of a railroad to connect them with the rest of the
nation, and most specifically with the city of New York? Here then was a potent need waiting to be
fulfilled.

2. Offer a product or service to satisfy that
need.

In 1869 word came that something called
the New York & Boston Railroad was projecting a line from New York City
north to Carmel and then to Brewster, where it would connect with the New York
& Harlem line. This, citizens
were told, was a grandiose plan conceived by some “big-brained men” who “meant business.” Monkey business? No, real business, as was explained in detail
to a meeting of citizens in a hotel at nearby Lake Mahopac, another community
to be served by the railroad. There, on
August 14, four directors of the railroad described the projected route and
invited subscriptions of stock. The
chairman of the meeting was the Reverend William S. Clapp, a respected Baptist
minister and the most prominent clergyman in the county, while financier Daniel
Drew, the local boy who had made good on Wall Street, was in attendance and informed
the railroad that it could run through any of his farms in the area free of
charge. No one present doubted the
success of the enterprise.

The question now was whether or not other
landowners would follow Daniel Drew’s example and give the railroad right of
way across their land, for if they failed to do so, the hoped-for railroad
might bypass Carmel altogether – the fear that always haunted communities
yearning for a railroad. But soon the Putnam County Courier could report that
seven-eighths of the local landowners along the route had given their land to
the company, prompting the paper to announce, “Such liberality is without
precedent in the history of railroads.”

3. Through grandiose speeches and gestures, whip
the people’s interest up to a fever pitch.

The railroad men had no need of the
grandiose gestures of Helmbold, for the mere promise of a rail connection to
the outside world dazzled the good folk of Carmel, who whipped themselves up to
a fever pitch. Prominent in the campaign
was the Courier itself.

4. Get their money.

The railroad’s demands were
substantial. It required no less than
$100,000, a sum to be raised by subscriptions of stock. Nearly half that amount had been raised by
mid-November 1869, when meetings of citizens were being held nightly, and
committees named to urge immediate action by those interested. If the railroad was to pass through Carmel,
the full sum had to be obtained, and obtained quickly; another $37,000 was
needed, and yet some big local property owners were holding back. “Now or never!” declared the Courier.
Then, on November 24, another meeting of citizens was held in a
Carmel hotel, and a resolution was passed to pay the railroad the amount
subscribed in 10% installments, each when another tenth of the work had been
completed, an arrangement that suggests that the citizens’ enthusiasm was being
seasoned with a touch of practicality, or even canniness. Fortunately, the
railroad agreed.

5. Satisfy their need, if you can. But above all, get their money.

Early in 1870 engineers appeared in the
vicinity of Carmel to make a final survey of the route. Then, on February 14, ground was broken for
the line in spite of a pelting rain.
Flags flew along the main thoroughfare and from the dome of the Ladies
Seminary, and church bells rang. Rain or
no rain, a procession marching to the site included the Carmel Brass Band,
clergy, orators, journalists, company officers, engineers and their
instruments, stockholders and citizens, and railroad laborers with picks and
shovels. After a solemn prayer, the
Reverend Clapp was chosen by unanimous vote to break ground and remove the
first shovelful of earth. The Reverend,
a hefty gentleman with a bushy walrus mustache, was more than up to the job, following
which the meeting was adjourned to his elegant carriage house, where food was
provided to all, as well as speeches by the Reverend and others. Finally, the soggy participants gave three
cheers for the New York & Boston Railroad.
Clearly, Carmel’s dream was coming true.

The Courier
of September 10, 1870, reported that 80% of the railroad was now completed
in Putnam County, but on November 25, 1871, a whole year later, it could only
report that work was continuing, with the new line due to commence operation
the following summer. Meanwhile the
railroad was undergoing a bewildering series of name changes, becoming the New
York, Boston & Northern Railway in November 1872, and then the New York,
Boston & Montreal Railway in January 1873. Happily, the Courier of May 4,
1872, quoted an ad from the New York
Commercial Advertiser of April 26 reporting that work on the line to
Montreal was under way, despite opposite from Commodore Vanderbilt, aka Old
Eighty Millions, who wanted no competition for his New York Central line. “These are indeed gigantic schemes,” said the
Commercial Advertiser, “but they are
no grander than the times demand…. Only
a little longer can an old fogy generation seal up this metropolis…. It is manifest destiny – you cannot dam up
the Bosphorus – you cannot dam up the Empire City.” So little Carmel would be linked not only to
New York City but also to distant Montreal; manifest destiny indeed.

What the citizens of Carmel longed for and finally got.

Work on the railroad suffered a long
interruption when winter came, but construction resumed in May 1873. On the morning of September 4 the shrill
whistle of a locomotive was heard for the first time in Carmel, as a train
arrived from Brewster, signaling the completion not of the whole line, but of
the all-important segment linking Brewster and Carmel. A direct connection between Carmel and all
other important points on the line was expected by the summer of 1874, at which
point manifest destiny would finally be fulfilled.

Alas, destiny received a rude jolt in
September 1873, when failures on Wall Street precipitated a financial
convulsion that would come to be known as the Panic of 1873. Stocks plunged, trust officers vanished into
fairyland, bankruptcies multiplied, factories shut down, railroads failed,
thousands were thrown out of work, and the whole nation was plunged into a
six-year depression. By late November
the Courier reported that all work on
the almost completed railroad had
ceased, with hopes that the suspension was temporary. But when, in August 1874, the railroad’s
treasurer came to Carmel and announced that work would resume shortly, the Courier confessed to a faint memory of
having heard this before. More rumors
followed, and more reorganizations. In
1877 the New York, Boston & Montreal Railway became the New York,
Westchester & Putnam Railway, the grandiose project of reaching Montreal
having mysteriously disappeared.
Whatever its name, the long-promised and much-delayed railroad finally
opened on December 23, 1880, with the first train carrying six passengers and
thirty-nine cans of milk – a modest enough achievement for a line once
projected to reach all the way to Canada.
Still, Carmel at last had its rail connection, a mere thirty-one years
after Brewster got the same. Destiny
had, after a fashion, been achieved.

For a while. When, in the 1970s, I began researching a
biography of Daniel Drew and needed to consult county records and the Putnam County Courier in Carmel, no
railroad could take me there. Instead, I
had to take the Harlem line to Brewster and then continue to Carmel by
taxi. How could this be? The answer became apparent when, at 5 p.m.,
having finished my day’s research in Carmel, I was ready to taxi back to
Brewster, and witnessed in the center of Carmel a traffic jam every bit as bad
as traffic jams in New York. The
automobile had long since supplanted the railroad.

Should the “big-brained men” who promised
a rail connection to Carmel and hit its citizens for thousands of dollars be
classified as bunco artists and con men?
No, they really meant to build their railroad, and that railroad, when
it finally began operation, was a tangible thing of iron and steel. This, I suspect, was the case with most
railroad promoters of those giddy times prior to the Panic of 1873, even if no
track was ever laid. If they were con
men, they were conning not just the public but themselves, and that’s the worst kind of con there is.

And
who are the bunco artists of today? Your
guess is as good as mine. Off the top of
my head I propose the following:

1.Hedge fund
managers

2.Big Pharma

3.The military
industrial complex

4.Psychiatrists

5.Politicians

#2 and #4 often work together, inventing
all kinds of new syndromes that #2 can allegedly treat. As for #3, all these wars that never seem to
end. And for #5, conning the public –
and sometimes oneself – is an inherent part of the game. Am I being cynical? No, just realistic. And what are our needs that these good folk
promise to fulfill? Wealth, health,
security, a better life. We will always
crave these things, and someone will always be on hand to promise them. And rarely, very rarely, someone will
actually deliver.

A New York vignette: Last Sunday, as I was lunching in a little
Indian restaurant on Bleecker Street, out the window I could see these
establishments across the street:

·Caliente Cab Co. / Tequila Bar

·Kumo Sushi

·Fish / Raw Bar / Fish

·John’s Pizzeria / Since 1929

·Ramen Thukpa

The cab company is, of
course, a Mexican bar. The first four
are juxtaposed along Bleecker. Ramen
Thukpa, visible in the distance across Seventh Avenue, was for me a mystery at
the time, but now, thanks to quickie online research, I know it to be a
Japanese and Tibetan restaurant. Once
again, diversity.
And that is truly New York.

One more touch of New York: As I looked out the window while lunching, a
panhandler stationed himself on the sidewalk outside. He was a bearded older man in a jacket and
jeans, wearing a tassel-topped knit cap that said NEW YORK. He accosted
passersby while flaunting a sign:

VET NEEDS FOOD

AND BUS FARE
HOME

I DON’T TALK

DC

And he didn’t talk, though
anyone who gave him some spare change was greeted with a smile and a
thumbs-up. At one point he noticed me
watching from the restaurant and gave me also a smile and a thumbs-up. I was going to give him something when I
left, but by then he had disappeared.
There was a time when, like most people, I would have walked past
without acknowledging him, but in my old age I’ve gotten soft; I’m now more
likely to give than not to give, and to add a friendly “hello” as well. But this is New York, so I’ll probably never
see him again. He looked authentic; I
hope he’ll get some food and get home.

WBAI and WNYC: As followers of this blog know, I listen to
both these listener-supported radio stations.
WBAI, having just failed to meet its goal in a fund drive, has immediately
launched another fund drive – which is almost without precedent. Soon it will have fund drives going year
round, without interruption. They are,
of course, desperate. Their loyal base
of contributors is shrinking, and they’re constantly changing programs to hook
more listeners, but so far it doesn’t seem to be working. Some of the changes are good, but when you
tune in, you have no idea what you’ll hear.
Last night I encountered a spiel for “neuro design engineering” and
“transitional hypnosis.” For a
contribution of $150 you could be instructed in these mysteries, which will
change your life. In fact, you will be
certified in them and can start your own consulting business charging $150 an
hour. Some of those participating have
already snagged their first clients at that princely hourly sum – hurrah! Which reminds me of those online ministerial
schools that will give you a quickie ministerial degree allowing you to claim
all the benefits of clergy – and there are many, including tax breaks – allowed
by law. When I’d heard enough of this
exuberant spiel, I switched to WNYC, which is offering a series of very moving
reminiscences by family members and significant others of all the pedestrians
who died recently in traffic accidents in the city. My personal conclusion: score one, and a big
one, for WNYC.

Coming soon: Sotheby’s and Christie’s and Bunny and Andy, and Who Goes to Jail and Who Doesn't.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

West 4th
Street between Sixth and Seventh Avenue, which I have often walked when toting
wines home from the Lower East Side, has a rich, weird assortment of shops. Starting from Sixth Avenue and heading west toward
Seventh on the uptown side of the street, here is what I’ve found. Omitted street numbers indicate residential
buildings, which are interspersed with the shops.

First, Tic
Tac Toe at 161 West 4th, with a sign outside showing one young woman
paddling another with a hair brush.
Needless to say, this suggests a frothy mix of the naughty and sensual,
and the suggestion is not so far off, since the store has been described online
as a clothing store selling “adult lingerie” or, more bluntly, as a “sex shop.” Well, okay.
Though I’ve never ventured inside (I’m not, in any way, into “adult
lingerie”), I’m sure that frilly and abbreviated apparel await one within. But there’s more than that, since a sign on
the sidewalk with the same spanking scene lists these offerings:

·BRIDAL/BACHELOR
PARTY STUFF

·ROMANTIC GAMES
AND MASSAGE OILS

·ADULT TOYS

·FETISH
ACCESSORIES

·LINGERIE AND
DANCE WEAR

·MEN’S UNDER WEAR

Online reviews vary from raves to pans, the raves
praising it for blow-up dolls, gag gifts, vibrating dolphins, and even
“pasties” (whatever they are), while the pans decry the staff as slouchy,
gossipy, immature, and rich in profanity; take your pick. But the sign and window display provide a
nice spicy start for our stroll toward Seventh Avenue. (Further research reveals that “pasties” are
adhesive patches to cover the nipples.)

Burlesque
at 163 West 4th is seemingly a competitor of Tic Tac Toe, with more
scantily clad sexy manikins in the window, plus the added enticement, “All
costumes on sale.” Yet when I check them
out online, the reviews mention jewelry, gifts, hats, and bags. A mystery.

The
Four-Faced Liar at 165 West 4th is another mystery, since there is
an array of liquor bottles in the window, but it is most definitely closed. Going online, however, I find it described as
a welcoming and unpretentious Irish pub, so maybe my afternoon walk was ill-timed;
it may open later. But I’m looking for
shops, not bars.

Next door
is the Pink Pussy Cat, at 167 West 4th, whose windows, featuring minimally
clad manikins, proclaim it yet another competitor to Tic Tac Toe. Here, without entering, we can have an inside
look at a sex shop, thanks to the published account of a young woman who,
recently arrived from Yugoslavia in 1989, was living in Queens on a rented
mattress at $50 a week. Needing a job,
she got one at Pink Pussy Cat without even knowing what the boutique’s name
implied or what “sexual paraphernalia” meant.
Paid $8 an hour plus commissions, she soon found herself selling sex toys
like strawberry-flavored underwear, and a few others like mouthless masks and
nipple clamps that were a bit scary. The
customers included happy couples, the men querying about the items while their
wives or girlfriends pretended to be bashful, or callow youths from New Jersey who
blushed crimson at the sight of black crotchless lace teddies. But the hours were long – from 6 p.m. to 2
a.m. -- and when she objected to working seven days straight through the
holiday season, she was fired.

Piquantly juxtaposed
with the Pink Pussy Cat is Music Inn at 169 West 4th, a store with
bins of old music books and records for sale out in front, plus chairs in
desperate need of a paint job but inviting visitors to sit, and windows
displaying guitars, chimes, and even a laundry board, plus a sign reading EXPERT
INSTRUMENT REPAIR. In addition, its website offers a wide range
of instruments including electric zarods – whatever that may be – as well as
Music Inn T-shirts and comics.

Shisha
International at 171 West 4th is what’s known as a smoke shop, with
the most amazing window display on the block, featuring a rich mix of
accouterments comprising what I take to be glass water pipes (bongs) and
hookahs, vaporizers, a smoke odor exterminator, and cigarette lighters, with a
few grinning skulls interspersed that may or may not be sending a message.If I linger here, it’s because the display
fascinates and baffles me; a nonsmoker, I have no idea what all these objects
are, least of all the water pipes (?), skinny totem poles of glass bulbs often
two feet high, and one that towers up to an astonishing five feet.For an added touch of atmosphere, a wooden cigar
store Indian stands by the entrance, and another taller one greets you just
inside the door.Online reviews hail
Shisha as a mecca for smokers and describe the staff as knowledgeable and
friendly.And one review tells how a
friend of his bought a high-end glass hand pipe for $130, took it home, and
then discovered, as he and his buddies passed it around, that it was in fact an
anatomically correct penis pipe!But
they smoked it anyway and had a fine evening.

Hector Garcia

Also
located at 171 West 4th is Juice Generation, which advertises
smoothies, juices, cold pressed açai bowls (again, I plead ignorance), and
“shots and boosts.” Among the items listed
on a menu brochure available outside are Supa Dupa Greens, Tropical Lust
(“watermelon, pineapple, apple & ginger”), Red Dragon Fruit, Mucho Mango,
Multi-V Squeeze, Protein KnockOut, Ginger Fix,
and Vital Shot. As for the “açai
bowls” just mentioned, a quick bit of online research reveals that the açai
palm grows in the swamps and floodplains of Trinidad and northern South
America, and that the fruit, a small, round, black-purple berry, is eaten or
made into a beverage. In fact, the
berries are now hailed by some as a superfood with anti-aging and weight-loss
properties, which may explain why they have made there way into West 4th
Street, though Juice Generation makes no such claims. What is does offer includes Almond Butter
Bliss, an açai bowl whose ingredients include açai, banana, almond milk, almond
butter, coconut, and hemp granola, and Amazing Green, an açai bowl with spinach
and kale. The store’s message of the
joys of juicing is a welcome contrast to the smoke shops and sex shops all
around it, and further proof that this one short stretch of West 4th
Street endeavors to satisfy all our cravings, licit and illicit alike.

A grove of Açai palms in Brazil.

You can even do it to yourself, ifyou're careful.
Bjorn Bulthius

Village
Four Nails & Spa at 175 West 4th features manicures ranging from
$8 to $45 (French Color Gel Manicure, $45), artificial nails that top out at
$100 for “UV Gel Permanent French,” pedicures ranging up to $60 for a “Honey
Silky Milk Spa Pedicure,” waxing of various body parts (“Upper Legs with
Bikini, $45”), and special treatments that include eyelash tinting ($25), ear
candling ($30) (??), 10-minute reflexology for $13, and eyelash extensions ($40
and up). (Ear candling, I have now
learned, is an alternative medicine procedure meant to improve health and well-being by
lighting one end of a hollow candle and inserting the other end in the ear
canal. Which is all right, I suppose, as
long as the practitioner doesn’t reverse the candle by mistake.)

But that’s
not all that Village Four offers. How
about a 60-minute Hydrolifting Facial for $90, or a 70-minute Deep Prone
Clearing Treatment for $110? All of
which, to this ignorant male, sounds pretty overwhelming. And I learn online that Village Four
aestheticians (yes, that’s what they call them) often begin an appointment with
a complimentary glass of champagne (Moët & Chandon, let’s hope). And after all this, reinforced by a smoothie
at Juice Generation, one is certainly ready for Tic Tac Toe or the Pink Pussy Cat.

At 177 West
4th we come to another smoke shop, Smoking Culture (“For all your
smoking needs”), with more glass pipes and houkahs and other handblown glass
contraptions in the window. Recently it
became known for much more than the products it sells. Tipped off by an irate girlfriend and the
shopowner, on July 28 of this year two federal marshals and a New York City
police detective entered the store to arrest Charles Mozdir, an employee wanted
on child molestation charges in California.
Confronted, Mozdir whipped out a handgun and opened fire, wounding all
three law officers amid a rain of shattered glass, before their return fire
killed him. Outside, West 4th
Street emptied quickly as pedestrians fled the scene, and the street was roped
off for hours as the police investigation continued. Protected by their bullet-proof vests, the
officers survived, as did Smoking Culture itself. But in Mozdir’s pockets the police found
twenty more rounds.

Next door
is Village Cuts, a barbershop at 179 West 4th Street (haircut $21),
promising whatever look the customer desires.
“Walk-ins welcome,” a sign indicates.

At 181 West
4th there are two establishments, one upstairs and one down. Upstairs is Ramen-ya, which I took for a
Japanese massage parlor or something similar. But no, going online I learn that it is a tiny
hole-in-the-wall Japanese restaurant and noodle house with excellent
reviews. I shan’t linger, since I’m not
surveying restaurants or bars.

Downstairs at
181 is Okuyama Bodywork, offering massages for deep-tissue, neck, and lower
back pain, as well as stress relief and sports injuries, and reflexology. “Therapies range from basic energy to potent
yet careful and exquisite stretches that incorporate a variety of respected
techniques,” it explains online. Privacy
and strict etiquette are promised; this isn’t one of those places. Reviews,
including one by a reviewer who says “I don’t normally right reviews,” are
excellent, emphasizing the personal attention you receive, the sustained effort
by the masseuse to get to the root of your problem. So here’s another leap toward health.

Passing two
residential entrances, at 187 West 4th we come to the Patisserie
Claude, a small pastry shop with Parisian-style pastries and coffee. There are only four little tables in front, plus
a counter displaying their wares, but when I pass by there’s usually at least
one or two seated patrons nibbling goodies.
It looks tempting, and far more relaxing and casual than the crowded
Magnolia Bakery (see post #153), but it’s usually close to noon when I pass it,
and I can’t afford to spoil my appetite for lunch. Online reviews are unqualified raves,
extolling the “chocolate Moose cake,” croissants, éclairs, tarts, and quiche. Claude is evidently the baker in charge, but
what his “Moose cake” tastes like, I can’t imagine. But then, I’m a vegan, so what does it
matter?

Gâteau à base de mousse au chocolat, which translates as"chocolate mousse cake." And not an antler in sight.
Lionel Allorge

Passing a
cleaner and tailor at 189 West 4th, we come to Considerosity at 191, featuring the “Art of Thoughtful Gifting,”
with what seem to be large fans (not the electric kind) in the window. By now we’re nearing the end of the walk, so
I haven’t lingered here. But online I
learn that the store is crammed with handmade jewelry, artisanal home
accessories, candles, cologne, bottles, handbags, mugs, bowls, you name it, and at reasonable prices. Gifts for everyone, it appears. A nice note to almost end on.

The end of
the walk comes at 193 West 4th with Petite Optique, which claims to
be “the most exclusive European eyewear boutique in New York.” They boast a collection of frames that is truly
unique. Click on “Collections” on their
website and you will be offered a host of designer names from all over the
world – BOZ, Cutler & Gross, Factory 900, ic Berlin, Lindberg, Mykita,
RAPP, Theo, and many more. Never heard
of them? That’s the point: these are
exclusive designers from all over the world, not available elsewhere in the
city. And if you click on any one of the
names, you will be shown a photo of an attractive model wearing the frames in
question. You may not look like the
model, but the frames are certainly distinctive. A nice upgrade note to end our walk on, as we
come to the Sheridan Square Viewing Garden and Seventh Avenue.

Now that
we’ve seen a lot of New York shops, what can we say distinguishes them,
regardless of what they offer? Something
rare, unique, not to be found just anywhere.
It may be houkahs, zarods, açai bowls, a Hydrolifting Facial, a
“chocolate Moose cake,” adult lingerie, or glasses frames by BOZ, but the
chances of your finding the item elsewhere in the city are slim. (One exception: adult lingerie seems to
abound, though only in a certain kind of shop.)
And in the past? Were there shops
with unique offerings back then, too?
Let’s go back to the 1860s and take a quick glance.

Tiffany’s
was flourishing then too, but only beginning to be a big operation with
international renown. Located at 550-552 Broadway, with a carved
wooden Atlas above the door shouldering a huge clock, the store offered a
cluttered window display of Victorian objets d’art: bronze figurines, silver
teapots, vases of every size and shape, necklaces draped over bowls and jewel
boxes, Chinese carvings, goblets, jeweled clocks, paperweights, and fans – just
the kind of stuff that the residents of brownstones used to clutter up the
mantels and whatnots of their parlors.

The founder
of the store, Charles Lewis Tiffany, had never intended it to be a mecca for
the wealthy; rather, he courted a mass market for his wares. Always on the lookout for unusual items, he
snapped up diamonds dumped on the market by fleeing aristocrats in the wake of
the 1848 revolution in Paris, and later, even Marie-Antoinette’s girdle of
diamonds, which he broke up into pieces to sell, so as to avoid embarrassing
questions about just how the girdle had been acquired. In 1856, having bought a perfect pink pearl
from a New Jersey farmer who had found it in his dinner mussels, Tiffany sold it to the Empress Eugénie of France. As news of the sale spread, it prompted a
rush throughout the country to rake the brooks in hopes of another such
find. But in his shop, mass market or
not, he forbade the customary haggling; each item was tagged with its price,
and that was final.

Tiffany's at Union Square, circa 1887.

Tiffany’s
today can hardly be called a quaint little shop, yet its store at 727 Fifth Avenue still features the wooden
Atlas above its Fifth Avenue entrance.I
have never set foot in it, but long ago my partner Bob went there to buy a gift
for his mother, and for $25 – a tidy sum, in those days – acquired a sterling
silver letter opener that adorns his desk today.Its design is the soul of simplicity, and
only with a magnifying glass can you make out the tiny inscription:

TIFFANY &
CO.

STERLING

Discretion, not flamboyance, is the rule today.

Matthew Brady, circa 1875.

One other
shop of the 1860s merits attention: Matthew Brady’s National Portrait Gallery
at 785 Broadway, near 10th Street, the fourth and last of his New
York studios.There were many
daguerreotype studios in the city by then, but Brady’s was the finest.To his spacious establishment, its walls and
tables displaying square and circular frames ranging from the small to the huge
and monumental, visitors flocked, the rich and famous and the
not-so-rich-and-famous, Americans and foreigners alike, to indulge in that
novelty of the age, having one’s features immortalized in a daguerreotype, the
pioneer photograph of the age.Portrait
painters must have suffered a steep loss in commissions, as people embraced the
new technology and sat for their portrait, yet all was not lost, for Brady
collaborated with artists who copied his photographs onto canvas to make
painted portraits.Another product of
the age that Brady offered was the carte de visite, a small calling card
bearing one’s photograph; such cards became all the rage and were produced by the
million on both sides of the Atlantic.

The Brady studio on Broadway, circa 1850.

But Brady
also had a keen sense of history in the making, and as a result managed to
photograph many prominent men of the day, including every president or
ex-president from John Quincy Adams to William McKinley, with the exception of
William Henry Harrison, who died after only a month in office. When the Civil War broke out, Brady, known up
till then chiefly for his portraits, sent out teams of photographers to
document the war. Photographers of that
day couldn’t catch soldiers in action, but they could photograph quiet poses of
soldiers and their leaders, forts and camps and, most memorably, battlefields
littered with the bodies of the dead, scenes that brought home the realities of
war to the public, who up till then had known only the heroic representations
of artists. Having spent over $100,000
on plates, Brady hoped the government would buy his war photographs once the
war ended, but it refused to do so, forcing Brady to close his New York studio
and declare bankruptcy. He finally
managed to sell a large collection of negatives to the War Department and got
$25,000 from Congress, but he remained heavily in debt. In 1896 he died penniless in the charity ward
of a New York hospital. But thanks to
him our Civil War is the first war in history to be documented in detail by
photography.

So ends my
glance at New York shops then and now.
It’s been an adventure and I’ve learned a lot. Do you have any favorite New York shops not
mentioned here? If so, let me know. I may do another post on shops in the future.

Coming
soon: Five Steps to Sure Success for
All Bunco Artists, Con Men, and Hoaxers.
A look at the forgotten genius Henry T. Helmbold, king of the patent
medicine men, and some “big-brained” railroad promoters who “meant business.”

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